My November 2025

Thanksgiving With The Ghosts Of Estrangement, Indifference & Distance

Yesterday was Thanksgiving.

The day started out okay. Normal stuff for me - up at 5:30, coffee in the bedroom as I start the day slowly, morning toast.

By 8am I had the turkey all dressed up and in the oven.

By 8:30am I realized I was in the middle of a bona fide anxiety attack.
No explanation for that while it was happening, it just came up out of nowhere.  It was just going to be the two of us so it wasn't like I was panicking about the details that come with having company.  I've cooked turkeys and Thanksgiving meals dozens of time so it wasn't that either.  Weird.  Later in the day I would understand why this happened.

Eventually the anxiety attack passed and the rest of the morning was spent doing just a bit more meal prep (I'd cooked most of everything the day before) and playing around with artwork.  At some point I mentioned to JP that I didn't want either of us to dwell on not having family or friends to share the day with as we often tend to lament about on special days.  Sort of like: "This food is great, the house looks beautiful. Too bad we don't have people to share it with."  That's the sort of thing that always gets said on every birthday, holiday, Arbor Day, Groundhog Day, etc.

But the truth is, even if one of us isn't saying it, we are both definitely thinking it.

For a little bit I had the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on the television which brought back a flood of memories for me:  being a little kid and going to the parade with my father, freezing to death until he bought me hot pretzels from the street cart man and a steamy hot chocolate with tons of whipped cream on top; taking Sherb to the parade when she was little, bundling her up in twelve layers of clothing.  
Moving on from the parade memories to remembering my mother getting mad if you didn't want to eat a particular Thanksgiving food that she thought you should be eating (I used to not like sweet potatoes which bothered her as if it were something personal) and also her annual attempt at making stuffing which everyone referred to as "wet bread".  Thinking about the corny joke that we still laugh about that my beloved and estranged nephew made on Thanksgiving about geting more turnips on his "next turn up" to get a second helping.

You know, the bittersweet kind of memories.

11.26.25

11.11.25

The Sad & Terrible Opposite Of Preservation

This morning I had the absolute misfortune of driving past this travesty on my way home from the post office.

Seeing them destroy this beautiful farmhouse was like a literal punch to my gut. Actually brought tears to my eyes. 

I got halfway home but decided that I had to go back and try to capture it with my camera before it was completely gone...but as you can see I was too late because that were working at a feverish pitch to destroy it.

Of course, the whole area that the house sits on that was once farmland is now marked off because I'm sure we'll soo see lots and gray and tan ugly new subdivision houses or some such similar thing in its place.  It's happening all around us.

I know that some people won't understand my very strong visceral reaction to things like this, but what I see here is not simply a house being torn down, but the destruction of history and memories and the stripping of the heartbeat and soul of a town/state.

Be careful, Delaware.  Your soul is eroding and you're well on your way to being known as the Land Of Overpriced Ugly Houses.

My Life In Watercolor: Vogel's Records

Did you know that a retail store can change your life?

It's hard to express in a way that would make people understand how a retail store can mean so much to me (and to so many others).

I'm struggling to put into words what music meant to me then (and now). It has been a lifelong love affair - thanks, in large part, to having the greatest record store "uptown", just a short bus ride or bike ride or long walk from home.  The love affair started with the purchase of so many 45s, eventually progressing to albums.  The first one I bought there, on my own with my own allowance money, age 13, was The Runaways because - oh my God! - Cherry Bomb. Can't stay at home, can't stay in school.

I remember that my mother surprised me with the Frampton Comes Alive album around that same time that she purchased at Vogel's. A double album!  I'd died and gone to heaven.  Do you feel like I do?

I particularly recall many trips to Vogel's with my friend Cathy, who had this really cool liquid blue eyeshadow that was all shimmery and you painted it on your lids with a brush. I was mad jealous of that eyeshadow but she shared it generously and we painted our eyes and set off to Vogel's to buy KISS albums because we were oh so cool like that.

You pushed open the door of that store, stepped inside, and your little world expanded on a soul level which sounds dramatic but isn't if you, too, have had a lifetime love affair with music.

What a great thing to have grown up in the era of great music...readily available at great record stores like Vogel's.

My Life In Watercolor: Spirito's Restaurant

My love affair with my hometown of Elizabeth, New Jersey, continues (in watercolor).

Here we have the famous Spirito's Restaurant which, sadly, no longer exists.

I'm still having a hard time accepting that. 

How do you say goodbye to the place you've been going to since the 1960s? 

The place you went for every special event growing up or just because you wanted the best Italian food (even though they didn't serve butter with the bread)? 

The place you drove to with your girlfriends when you first got your license, age 17, and pushed our luck when we ordered "Bacardi and Coke" because we didn't know what else to order and they actually served us? 

To never again sit in one of their wooden booths with their formica tabletops and the low lit wall sconces at every table? 

Oh, the bittersweet memories!

They recently filmed the movie "Nonnas" at the already closed Spirito's. There's a couple of scenes where you can still see the ghost of what Spirito's was when it was open. You should watch it.

It might be gone now, but it will not ever be forgotten. 

That's the thing about being from Elizabeth...these places are somehow in our blood.

My Life In Watercolor: Tommy's Italian Hot Dogs

My grandfather lived around the block from Tommy's, on South Street (maybe you remember the gray house with pink shutters? lol) in Elizabeth, NJ.

I have a very clear memory of walking with him, hand in hand, to Tommy's - it had to be just after they first opened because my grandfather died in 1970.

Grandpa used to take me for walks all through what we Elizabethans know as 'the 'Burg' (aka Peterstown). I can't wait to watercolor more of the places we'd go.

Tommy's Italian hot dogs are amazing but you really haven't lived until you've had their potatoes in a cup.

My Life In Watercolor: DiCosmo's Italian Ice

And here we have my watercolor rendition of DiCosmo's Italian Ice in Elizabeth, NJ.

If you are ages 1-125 and you're from or have been to Elizabeth, NJ...then you have likely had Italian ice from DiCosmo's because that's how long they've been at this location, no joke.

My father used to buy their lemon ice by the quarts so he'd have it after they closed for the season.

You wouldn't believe the love and memories people have for this little place that's been around for generations

My Life In Watercolor: Jerry's Hot Dogs

I've decided to document some of my life (good and bad) in watercolor.

I was lucky enough to have been born and raised in Elizabeth, NJ - just outside of NYC. There are places there that are institutions for anyone who is from Elizabeth. You might think it's weird to honor a hot dog stand but when you've been going there for many decades with every family member, with every boyfriend/friend/husband, and many time just going there by yourself when you needed to touch base with your roots or you just craved the best hot dog there is...well, you'd understand the reverence I, and countless others, have for this place.

Examples: my parents divorced when I was very young and my father moved to North Carolina but would come back for visits periodically. When I was old enough to drive, I'd pick him up from Newark airport (just a few miles from Elizabeth) and we'd head straight to Jerry's where we'd buy way too many chili dogs and then sit on the bench across the street and chow down and catch up, just the two of us.

Then there was the time we actually got my housebound (by choice) mother to leave her apartment to take the hour long drive to Jerry's from where we lived at the NJ shore. She couldn't resist the lure of eating Jerry's, which she'd been doing since she was much much younger. She was hesitant, to say the least, and afraid that her sensitive stomach couldn't handle the hot dogs but we got her to go anyway.
We drove her all around Elizabeth, past all of the places she'd lived, her schools, and other memorable places in her life. All of this culminating with sitting in the pickup truck chowing down on Jerry's. What a day that was! And her sensitive stomach, which would very often act up at the slightest thing, did just fine that day.

Memories of sharing Jerry's with my parents are priceless and are one of the many reasons Jerry's Hot Dogs is much more than just a hot dog stand to me...and those countless others who have similar stories to tell.

The Sky's The Limit

Here's my video featuring the collection of my magical realism artwork that will be 

included in theexhibition "The Sky's The Limit" at the

Syrna Opera House

Dickinson Gallery

Smyrna, Delaware

10.16.25 - 11.14.25

Life Stories: Oreos & A Late Night In An Irish Bar

That time I was in a Manhattan Irish bar very late at night. This was

the kind of place where you had to know someone to be let in after hours.

You walked down about six steps from the sidewalk & entered thru an unassuming

front door.  The music was live, lively & loud. The Guinness flowing.

But I was hungry so I went across the street the the only open place - a bodega.

Bought a box of Oreos & some milk, snuck myself & my snacks back into the bar.

Big, burly, Irish bartender saw me eating, asked what I had.
I thought I was busted & would be asked to leave but instead I spent a very

memorable night sharing my Oreos with Ryan, the not-so-scary afterall Irish bartender.